


Magic's Reflections

by Marien



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:13:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8788633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marien/pseuds/Marien
Summary: This is in response to Bethynyc's request for a Tremane fic.I don't think I've ever had such a time of it getting a character to "talk" to me; I was almost afraid I'd have to default.And then Tremane (and a few other characters) finally let me get into their POV...and theywouldn'tshutup  !  (LOLWTFBBQ, here)I did add some details that aren't canon--I couldn't find Jeri's Companion listed by name anywhere in the Valdemar series, so I improvised.OCs galore, also. I had a lot of fun writing this...I hope Bethynyc and others enjoy the fic.  Merry almost-Christmas!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bethynyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethynyc/gifts).



Tremane woke at dawn. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, sitting up.  
The sounds of voices carrying from outside drew his attention. He padded over to the window and looked out, across to the nearby buildings. 

A few Heralds and some of the Kaled'a'in representatives were even earlier risers, he'd noticed. "Morning people," to the disgust of those who considered greeting the sunrise a form of drastic punishment.  
He glimpsed the white uniform of a Herald. It was Jeri, one of those who'd been recently posted to the permanent Valdemaren embassy in Shonar. She and one of the young Kaled'a'in women appeared to be sparring in the little dooryard of the building they'd taken as their headquarters.  
Jeri had been one of the Heraldic weapons teachers back in Valdemar, he understood. She moved with the lithe grace he associated with experienced and trained fighters, even when not in the training ring.  
Her Companion was sitting some distance away, seeming unconcerned, which reassured Tremane that this was a friendly match, not an actual attempt by either party to injure or kill their opponent. 

_Why worry about it...? She can take care of herself._  


Yet it was with reluctance that he let the curtain drop, though he couldn't have said why.  


* * *  


: _He's watching you again,_ : Varien commented.  


Jeri didn't glance in her Companion's direction. Summerfire shena K'Leshya was an opponent that she'd learned to take seriously. Distractions were not a good idea. She grinned as a strike of hers made the Kaled'a'in fall back a step, and pressed the advantage--  
only to be caught by a low parrying blow to her abdomen, hard enough to bruise but not to pierce the leather armor she wore.  


"Disable!" Summerfire's voice was clear as a bell. Jeri retreated, yielding.

"Damn, you're quick." She flashed the woman a smile.  
They were both soaked with sweat, aching, but pleased, if Summerfire's own expression was anything to go by.  
"You were tired," Summerfire observed, her tone clinical as she regarded Jeri. "You normally guard yourself better than that." 

"Was up helping one of the Healers last night. After that, I needed to work off some temper," Jeri admitted. 

"Oh?" A flicker of concern showed in Summerfire's face.  


_:There are other ways to work off a mood,:_ Varien pointed out teasingly.  


"Shut it, horse," Jeri replied, amused. To Summerfire, "He's still trying to coax me into chasing someone down for a night or two. Or let Tremane know I'm on the market, as they put it here." 

The Kaled'a'in accepted the none-too-subtle change of subject. " He's shown no real interest in the Court ladies who've hoped he would," Summerfire mused. 

"Hmmph. It really doesn't matter--in the Royal sense. He has an adopted Heir, so a marriage would be for other reasons. Stronger alliance or showing favor to one of the loyal families, maybe."  


"And do you have reasons? To want him to favor you?" her friend asked. 

Jeri fell abruptly silent. "I don't...have an answer for that yet," she replied after a long moment. "I'm a Herald, Summerfire. I serve Valdemar first. A night's lover is one thing, but a partner-mate would have to understand that."  


"You don't think Tremane would?" Summerfire arched a feathery brow. "Of all people?"  


"No. You're right. I just--" Jeri faltered, at a loss for words. 

"He matters. What he thinks does?"  


Silence. Slowly, Jeri nodded.  


* * *  


He sat on the braided rug by his bed, and shut his eyes.  
He'd grown used to the earth-sense in the past two years, since his coronation as King of Hardorn, and it no longer overwhelmed him with information. Nor did he wake feeling as if his stomach was being tied in knots or his skin scraped away due to the land's ills. The kingdom was on its way to healing, though it might be long years more before it was restored to what it had been before Ancar's reign. _Perhaps not in my lifetime..._  


He shook that thought off, firmly, and cleared his mind, letting the land 'speak' to him, searching for anything that needed his immediate attention. There was only a sense of quiet, of things not having changed much. A sleepy murmur rather than wordless screams for help. They were heading into autumn, the land and its creatures preparing for wintersleep. This season was generally more peaceful than the others.  


A knock on his door stirred him from the light trance. He rose, pulling on a robe. "Sire?" a young man's voice called. He identified it as that of Nathan, a recruit to the King's Guard, one of the Hardornens who had joined when his court was first being formed. Tremane opened the door without further hesitation.  
"Private," he greeted the soldier.

Nathan straightened up as best he could, and tossed off a salute. "Sir. I--I apologize for disturbing you, but you said we could come to you if needed, and..."  


"I did say that, and still do," Tremane nodded. "What's wrong?"  


Nathan blinked several eyes. "It's Melora. We think--she might be with child, and there's been some awful quarrels among the Healers and townsfolk about it..." His skin paled to a dullish gray as he raised a misshapen hand to run fingers through a shock of brown hair.  


"Is the child's father another one of the Changed?" the King asked gently. 

They'd started using that name instead of 'boggles' not long after the last of the Mage Storms. Humans caught by a Storm and changed by the wild magics rarely survived, but those that did, often were no longer recognizable as humans even if they retained their minds. Tremane believed that it was Father Janas who'd first coined the term, though he didn't disagree with the rewording for boggles who had once been human.  
Nathan had been one such unfortunate. He'd survived, but his appearance now put one in mind of a reptile, with scaled greenish-gray skin. His face held a human's blue eyes but also, set above them, the yellow ones of some lizards Tremane had seen in warmer climes.  
He had been caught outdoors while en route to Shonar, and later discovered by his comrades. They'd almost killed him before Nathan was able to identify himself. Fortunately, the transformation hadn't affected his ability to speak.  


"No. A human, but he doesn't want us to name him. Melora couldn't marry him anyway, not--She can't live like a woman who's someone's wife, Majesty--" Nathan winced, looking at the floor. "People fear she'll whelp more like her, and say it's bad enough without breeding a race of monsters..."  


" So they've said before," Tremane recalled. "It's come to where the dispute can't be settled unofficially, I take it. "

"Lady Piers said she means to petition you to order the 'litter' destroyed, and to set a law that any Changed can't be allowed to bear young unless a Healer can confirm the child's human. She'll speak to you at Morning Court." 

"I'll be sorry to disappoint her, but not terribly." Tremane frowned, and then gave an irritated sigh. Nathan chuckled as the King firmly pressed his lips together. The truth-spell on the King was common knowledge among the Guard, though not talked about openly much.  


Tremane put a hand on Nathan's shoulder. "Don't let her make you bow down, even just in your own mind. You and Melora are my people too, that is not going to change, nor will I see you deprived of your rights."  


"Thank you, Majesty." Nathan gulped, some of the anxiety leaving his face. He left, his tail thumping against the hallway's wooden floor as he passed the guards. One gave him a friendly slap on the back. Tremane shut his door quietly. 

The land's presence remained with him as he readied for the day's work. He'd wondered, while they were struggling to survive the Storms, if the earth-binding might be lost along with other magics after the Final Storm. Or if he might be freed of Solaris' truth-curse upon him.  
Neither had proved to be the case, and he'd been surprised to realize that a part of him was relieved... even grateful and a little humbled.  


_"Rulers are in some ways always alone,"_ Sejanes had told him once. _"If you aspire to a crown, best accustom yourself to that."_  
* * *  


Tremane walked down to the chamber that served as his office/workroom. As expected, Peregryn was already awake and there before him. The young Baron of Adair had grown tall, so that Tremane had to crane his neck to look up at him. He was dressed, like Tremane, in light Court panoply, including the Heir's circlet. 

Naming Peregryn as his successor had been a choice made after long thought by both himself and the young man. While Tremane was still not too old to marry and father a child, or children, he'd grown to respect Peregryn in their dealings. He had no doubt that his Heir would be a good King someday. He'd demonstrated a quick wit but also a creative mind and generous nature, traits Tremane would have freely admitted were not _his_ greatest strengths. He was loved as well as respected by his own people, and popular among the few courtiers who'd yet established themselves .  


"Any news from the Iftel delegation?" he asked. He'd set Peregryn the task of liaison to the Iftel embassy, as a way to give him some experience in diplomacy. If he could learn to negotiate with a full-grown gryphon or _kyree_ , he should be able to manage dealing with ambitious or tricksy representatives from less friendly countries...such as the Eastern Empire, someday.  


While they discussed recent events, Tremane indulged in a light breakfast. Peregryn ate heartily. Tremane regarded him with wry amusement; the young man was still lean as a greyhound. 

"Ambassador Tashiketh said he'll be attending Morning Court; so will some of the Kal'e'dain. We're not sure why. He requests a private audience with you sometime in the next few days." Peregryn furrowed his brow. 

"Very well." Secrecy was unusual for gryphons; if they wanted something, they typically came out and asked for it, Tremane had found. Which meant that on the few occasions when they did need something handled discreetly, it was usually important. "Have the Seneschal schedule him in as soon as possible."  
Peregryn jotted down a quick note. "With your leave, Sire, I'll depart for Adair after this morning's Court. We've got the harvest to get in soon there, too." 

"Granted. Hopefully this year none of your workers will confuse the crop with the weeds," Tremane said wryly. "I think your lady mother was slightly put out with me. " 

"Moreso with me," was the reply, a glint in Peregryn's eyes. "After all, I've done this before, and you hadn't." 

They rose, and walked down the corridor to the Great Hall.  
The room was more than half full. Humans, gryphons, a _hertasi_ , quite the assorted crowd. Some were chatting amongst themselves. One group of humans had set themselves at a distance from the rest, and they were silent.  
Nathan was seated at the back of the room, as was Melora. Tremane kept his expression blank as he strode to his throne, and sat. Peregryn took up a spot at the King's right hand. 

The first petitioner to be announced was a middle-aged woman who all but pushed the Seneschal out of her way as she came forward. "Lady Piers, Baroness of Westen," she identified herself. "Majesty, I wish to petition for a new decree concerning the status of the boggles living among us. It is plain that they are a danger to Hardorn's citizens; your people should not have to tolerate sharing space with aggressive creatures. Let alone give them leave to produce offspring that may be completely feral, uncontrollable."  


Tremane regarded her coolly. "The Changed are Hardorn's citizens as well, Baroness," he replied. "If I recall correctly, your niece Melora is among their number. We do not imprison or act against people of any race for what they _might_ do someday." 

"That--" the Baroness' face reddened, as she turned to point at Melora, "Is _not_ my sister's child. We mourned her death. That...animal wearing her face isn't--" 

"She is your blood," Tremane cut her off. "Our Healers confirmed it, two years ago. You know that. I don't grasp why you require being told a second time, Lady Piers. It was your privilege to disown her, but in doing so, you yielded any right to a voice in her future. If you or your hold's folk have a complaint of specific injury, lay it before the city court or Guard first." He raised his hand, gesturing to the Seneschal, dismissing her and signaling for the next petitioner to come forward. 

Seething, the woman turned and stormed away. The look of pure hatred she shot Melora made several people in the audience glare at her in return. The young Changed hid her face in furry, clawed hands, but not before Tremane glimpsed tears welling in her eyes.  
He caught a flash of metal out of the corner of his eye, and whirled to see Lady Piers raise her arm to throw a wicked, triangular bladed knife at the girl. Her throw was clumsy but at such close range--  
Before Tremane could even shout a warning, he felt a rush of power, not magic but mind-magic, arrow through the room-- 

The knife froze in midair, and then switched direction, slamming downward to bury itself in the wooden floor.  
Herald Jeri stalked over to the knife and yanked it free. Her blue eyes were hard as she stared Piers down. "Care to have this back?" she asked, her voice cold enough to burn.  
The Guards belatedly hurried forward, seizing the noblewoman despite her protests. Jeri inclined her head politely to their sergeant, relinquishing the knife. 

"Fetching Gift, they call it," Peregryn murmured. When Tremane glanced at him, he added in a low whisper, "Melora has a touch of the same Gift. I believe Herald Jeri's been giving her some instruction." 

"Ah. Tell me later,"when the Heir would have continued. The Guards hustled Lady Piers away. The Seneschal called up the next petitioner. 

Minor trade matters and plans for the Harvest festivities took up the rest of the morning. Tremane wasn't inclined to complain of the prosaic requests, after the earlier drama.  
The Morning Court ended just before noontime. Tremane walked with Peregryn to the stables to see him off. 

"Heralds protect the innocent." Peregryn sounded as if he were thinking aloud. "I don't think they particularly care where someone's from, though they serve Valdemar's interests. But they won't ignore it if a person's hurting or in trouble. I've seen Herald Jeri at the Healers' Hall a few times, helping care for people when the Healer on duty was tiring or needed an extra pair of hands. She has a weak healing-gift, so she can add her strength to theirs in an emergency."  
Tremane mulled that over, adding it to what he knew about the Valdemaren representatives. 

Peregryn saddled his horse, a dappled gray gelding with a sweet temperament. The horse nuzzled at his hands, as if asking for treats. "Nah, now, you get sugar after we've run a few miles," the Heir chided.  


"I have to tell my Companion that on a regular basis," Jeri's voice spoke from behind them.  
Said Companion snorted, as if arguing. "Not that he listens. Oh, pardon-- Majesty, this is my Companion. His name is Varien." The stallion preened a little, pacing forward to stand on Jeri's right.  


"I'm honored to make your acquaintance, Varien," Tremane said, bowing slightly. "We'll be riding with Peregryn to the city limits; you're welcome to join us," he invited.  


Jeri glanced at Varien, who whickered, bobbing his head. "Gladly." She swung up into the saddle.  


* * *  
They cantered out of the yard, Peregryn taking the lead. Tremane's mount, a sturdy chestnut mare, followed swiftly.  
It was a warm autumn day. Trees blazed in vivid reds and oranges overhead. Dry leaves crackled under the horses' hooves, though Varien moved in a Companion's silent gait. Jeri hadn't put formal tack on him, so the bells and bright colors were absent.

: _You did remember your own business with the Healers yesterday?:_ Varien asked abruptly.  


Jeri was startled. : _Yes. They made sure I had a supply of both moonflower and childbane for the rest of the season._ : She tallied up the days, and resisted the urge to facepalm lest the men notice. This conversation definitely _didn't_ need to be shared. : _....Right. Thanks, brother-heart. It's been too long since I had to be cautious of the times. And an unexpected pregnancy would be several types of complication, particularly if the father was bound elsewhere.:_  


_:Or the mother not free to bind herself formally. I don't...wish you to be lonely, sister-mine, but if you want someone to pledge to..._ : 

_:Varien, if I wanted to be a Queen, I would have let my mother press harder for me to be named Valdemar's Heir in Elspeth's place all those years ago. It's the man that draws me, not the King--_ :  


"... Jeri?" Tremane's voice broke her reverie. She glanced up apologetically, realizing that he'd spoken to her once or twice already.  
"Ah. A question I thought might be better asked in private, about Melora. Peregryn said you were teaching her mind-magic?"  
Varien moved up alongside Tremane's mount to let them converse more easily.

"I'm teaching her to control the Gifts she has," Jeri corrected. "The mind-magic is something she was born with, like a number of people. Fetching--the Gift that lets us move things without touching them, and a lesser talent for Mindspeech. She needed some help to learn how to shield when her Gift first showed itself. Any Herald who can Mindspeak learns the basics. She's quick-witted; it hasn't been hard for her to learn."  


Tremane mulled that over. "Can...you sense if her child is human?" he asked unexpectedly. 

Jeri stilled. "No. You'd want a Healer or Empath for that. I haven't tried to touch the child's mind; that can hurt an unborn, this early on, and anyway --No Herald would do so without the mother's consent."  


"Even to keep her or those around her safe? I wish Melora no ill, Herald, but I can't deny that bringing more feral creatures within Shonar has its risks."  


"Ancar was human," Jeri pointed out tartly, "and he caused more damage to your people than any boggle. " Tremane grimaced, and nodded slightly, conceding her point. She drew in a breath. "Ah, I'm sorry. I do take your meaning. I don't have an answer for this. I'd advise you to speak to Darkwind. The Tayledras have experience with magic warping people into what they call Changechildren-- he might be able to give you some information on what to expect from Melora's or the other Changed's descendants."  


"I won't abandon them, but yes, some idea of what lies ahead might be useful. " 

"I never thought you would," Jeri replied. She met his gaze; reached out a hand to him. He took it in his, smiling back at her as she squeezed lightly.  


"Thank you. For protecting her, as well as your counsel," he said softly. 

"You're welcome, Tremane. "  


* * *  


Tremane loved riding when the weather was cool. He savored the rare peaceful moments when he could simply enjoy himself.  
Jeri was quiet. He glanced back a time or two as they rode toward Shonar's northern boundary. Her blond hair, tied back in a braid and pinned at the back of her head, was bright in the autumn sunshine. She wore ordinary riding leathers in green and brown shades, rather than her Whites; she must be off-duty, he realized. Her blue eyes were a bit unfocused, but she had no trouble keeping her seat. Varien wouldn't let her fall, in any event.  
Perhaps when they were alone, he might ask her more about herself...he'd grown curious, hearing what Peregryn had to say about her. He'd known the Heralds all possessed some degree of mind-magic, most commonly Mindspeech. Her action in the audience chamber had caught him off-guard. He could sense that she didn't have the Mage-Gift, but with magic lessened as it had been after the storms, the other Gifts might be more formidable a weapon or defense if needed.  
_And of course that's all that you're interested in, old man, her magic? Hardly._ She was lovely, intelligent, and caring--and strong. Not some painted doll whose only thought was to snag herself a noble husband. 

"Invite her to spar," Peregryn suggested, his voice barely above a whisper.  
Tremane paused. "I'm sorry?" 

"You want a pretext to approach her?" Peregryn grinned at the older man's expression. "I won't say anything," he added more seriously. "But I've the sense that she's had her fill of men who see a pretty lass and never look any closer. If you're thinking of courting her, let her know you see her true face before anything else."  
Tremane went poker-faced. "I'll keep it in mind," he said finally.  
His conversation with Jeri didn't quite go the way he'd expected, but he wasn't displeased by that. He didn't think he'd offended her, and her smile was worth a bit of aggravation.  
"Shall we stop by the White Goose for a meal?" he suggested on impulse. The little tavern had been built only this past spring, but had a reputation for good food and drink. 

Jeri's stomach growled before she could reply. She blushed. "I'd say that was a yes."  
"Did you not eat this morning?" he asked, dismayed. 

"Busy. And dealing with some people-- like your western Baroness--I lost my appetite," she confessed. 

"Then by all means, let's see if we can locate it." Tremane paused to wave to Peregryn before the young man rode out of sight, before turning his mount back toward Shonar.  
There were only a few other people eating at the White Goose when they arrived, for which he was grateful. Eating under scrutiny tended to ruin _his_ appetite at the best of times.  
He was recognized, of course, and the tavernkeeper hurried over to serve them. Tremane noticed people staring at him, and then Jeri, and winced. 

"Gossip is everyone's favorite sport at some time," she murmured, winking at him. To the tavernkeep, she said politely, "Varien would like some hot grain and apples, if they're fresh, please." The Companion had stayed outside, finding a sunny patch of ground to rest.  
The man looked baffled, but one of the barmaids overheard and nodded. "I'll see to it, Lady Herald," she called over. 

"Thanks, Saras," Jeri called back, smiling. She requested only cider, rather than wine or beer, and a vegetable-and-beef stew that smelled delicious. Tremane decided to follow her example. They both tucked into their food for a few minutes before he picked up the conversation. 

"About Varien..." he hesitated. "Is...Jeri, I barely know what to ask first. Would it be considered rude by your customs to ask if we can speak without his being aware of it?"  


Jeri blinked. "Rude, no. This is something that Heralds have to deal with. It's confusing sometimes---even to Valdemar's people. Varien can see or hear what I do, but he wouldn't without asking unless there was an emergency. Or if for some reason I wasn't able to say yes or no--if I was gravely injured, or ill. He's not listening right now. I'll be blunt too here: he's been hinting that I should try to get to know you better. He doesn't like it when I spend most of my off-duty time alone." 

"Then there isn't...anyone else who's partnered with you? I mean--" Tremane stuttered. Dear Hundred Gods, when had he forgotten how to talk? He hadn't felt this awkward trying to ask a perfectly simple question in almost thirty years!  


"No. There's not." Her expression softened. "And you? No one else who's made you blush or smile lately?" Her tone was teasing, but not mocking.  


"No. Not like that." He met her gaze. "You...are not like the other ladies I've known. A good thing," he added hastily. 

"And you aren't like other men--or Kings. " Jeri hesitated, then took a chance. It might be too soon, but-- _:I suspect the man's been lonely, even before he wore a Crown. Just strong enough and cunning enough not to let it show before everyone,_ :, she Mindspoke cautiously.  


Tremane's eyes widened slightly, the only sign he gave that he'd Heard her. "I. Yes. Is that--" 

"It's--useful, when one doesn't want to be overheard," she said in a low voice. "But if it disturbs you--"  


"No. Well, a little? Can you tell what's in my thoughts?"  


Jeri immediately shook her head. "You're shielded. I wouldn't even be able to tell if you'd heard me. I'm shooting in the dark here too." She fidgeted under his scrutiny.  


Tremane raised his eyebrows, apparently realizing that he wasn't the only one feeling a bit nervous. "Then let's face this together, and perhaps find joy to chase away loneliness?" he asked-- in clear if accented Valdemaren, to her astonishment. She brushed the back of her hand against his cheek in assent.  


He smirked. "I do actually learn a few new tricks, if slowly." He took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips.  


They finished the meal in easy silence, though onlookers would have noticed they were both smiling.  


As they returned to the King's residence, Jeri had to draw away slightly, putting the "Herald's mask" back in place. Tremane straightened up, too, as they came in sight of the Guards at the front gate. "I feel like being selfish for once, " he said. "I'd like us to have some time just for us, Court gossips or not."  


"

Let them wonder, for now," Jeri agreed mischievously. She saluted him. He bowed before turning away.  


* * *

Tremane was greeted by the Seneschal, who reminded him that he had an audience scheduled with Tashiketh in a little less than a candlemark. He took time to bathe quickly and redress in formal gear, little as he liked the heavy, ornate clothing; to show up to a meeting with an Ambassador in sweaty, dusty riding leathers would have been blatantly disrespectful. Not the best of ideas even when said Ambassador _didn't_ have a beak and talons that large and wicked-looking.  


He stepped out onto one of the open-air terraces they'd had added to the residence. Halls and rooms designed for humans were uncomfortably confining for gryphons, so most such meetings were held outside, weather permitting. A few spells added to the structure muffled sound, to prevent anyone outside the area from eavesdropping.  


A moment later, Tashiketh winged in to land. "My thanks for this audience on such short notice," the gryphon rumbled.  


"It's no trouble. I hope all's well with you and yours?" Tremane asked.  


"Yes, but that is what I need to discuss. " Tashiketh regarded him gravely. "Some of Iftel's people--humans, but also some _ratha_ and _tyrill_ \-- have requested that I speak to you on their behalf. To ask whether you would consider permitting them to relocate to Hardorn, becoming your citizens and subjects." 

Tremane was taken aback. "We do have unoccupied lands," he conceded. "Particularly Crown City." Hardorn's former capital had been largely abandoned. He'd refused outright to even consider moving there, or taking Ancar's palace as his home. If the bloodmagic Ancar had fouled the Kingdom with was akin to a scar, Crown City was like a gaping, bloody wound left by an axe. No one with earth-sense was at ease there, and Tremane suspected it might be decades or generations before they could be. "But why do they desire to leave Iftel ?" 

" _Ratha_ are nomadic, they desire new territory to explore and roam. _Tyrill_ are builders and inventors. They love new challenges. The chance to help rebuild a city, or a land, with their own designs would be a sought-after opportunity. Some humans, as well, might wish for a new start or way of life. We are not sending you troublemakers or rebels, Tremane, I give you my life's oath on it," Tashiketh said vehemently. "You have treated me and the rest of my wing with respect, I wouldn't repay that with false coin. All have agreed to serve you as their Monarch as loyally as any born in Hardorn, or be dealt with as traitors."  


Tremane was silent, considering the gryphon's words as well as the proposal.  
_Room for everyone, as in Valdemar. A city rebuilt as a sanctuary, a place to find hope rather than fear or cruelty._ For a second, he could visualize it, and was breathless with a longing that almost rivaled the pull he felt toward Jeri. Nathan's and Melora's faces flashed through his mind's eye, as well as Jeri and her Companion. He'd already accepted nonhumans as part of 'his people'. It would be cowardly, as well as hypocritical, to deny others a chance to earn a place here.  
He meant to be neither of those things. He looked up into Tashiketh's hopeful amber eyes.  


"Specifics, then, Tashiketh. I am inclined to say yes, but my Councilors will want details. How many of these folk? Who leads among them? What do they need to build a new home here?" He reached for a blank sheet of parchment on a nearby table.  


They spent almost two candlemarks discussing specifics. Tremane made a great many notes, and was impressed by the clear, practical answers he received. Adding some four or five hundred people to Hardorn's populace wouldn't strain the land past endurance, though it might have in the past. They would come with the means to plant crops and build their own homes, as well as coin and other resources, until they were self-sustaining. A few, humans mostly, might hope to rise from common-born to minor nobles, but that was a detail Tashiketh didn't press on too strongly. Tremane would need to know them personally before he granted any such honors, and it would be separate from their settlement in his Kingdom.  


The audience ended on a positive note, gratifyingly. Tashiketh departed, and Hardorn's King went to attend to the rest of his duties.  


If he gazed up at the sky a few times, seeming to be preoccupied, or listened for the sound of a certain lady's voice, well, who was to know?


End file.
